


Steven's Extra Horrible Ocean Adventure

by Bad_Anxi



Category: Original Work
Genre: Based on Roleplay, Gen, OCs - Freeform, lol sorry, metric fucktons of expositions with no real fucking substance tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bad_Anxi/pseuds/Bad_Anxi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So a zombie, a witch, and a dullahan take a boat out into the Pacific Ocean. That's it. There's no punchline. Not everything has to be a goddamn joke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> So here's my jumbled mish mash of ideas that were floating in my brain for like, what, a year now? I slapped em together and tried to make em pretty. Shrug.  
> This is for O and R, who own Griffon and Stace, respectively, and the rest is my own bullshit.

Nothing was special about the day the call came.

 

In the months following Griffon’s initial return-- that is to say, following his sentient severed head showing up in a USPS box on front doormat-- the household had settled into a sort of rhythm. A series of staggered and interwoven patterns and habits kept things moving at a slow, predictable pace. The condo’s three residents were good at accommodating one another’s needs, and even better at staying out of one another’s way, making day-to-day life a subtle sort of dance, sidestepping quietly when they had to, polite smiles in place. Fear and anxiety ruled them, though nobody would admit it out loud. Fear, and the looming, ever-present knowledge that the more time they allowed to pass, the less likely they were to reach their goal of retrieving Griffon’s body. It was a heavy, pervasive thought that crept in from the corners of their home during quieter moments, an unwelcome guest waiting to be acknowledged.

From the outside looking in, things would seem almost peaceful, some semblance of normal, even. None of them were terribly talkative, but they kept each other company, kept the home taken care of, almost like their situation wasn’t completely and helplessly bizarre. Almost like a family.

The only malfunctioning cog in the system was Steven.  
His moods were unpredictable, and while he’d do just about anything he was told if it were for Stace or Griffon’s benefit, he often flat out refused to take care of himself, skipping out on meals and sleep in favor of what he simply termed his ‘work.’ He’d sequester himself off in the back room with only the piano and his computer and painting supplies for company, emerging only when he absolutely had to, or when one of his housemates demanded it. If not the back room, then the bathroom, claiming airily that he just ‘needed a bath’ to ‘clear his head,’ locking the other two out for hours on end. On some occasions, he’d later come back from whichever hiding place and retake his place among the other two as though he’d been there all along; others, he’d come rushing past them in a near frenzy, coat and bag over one arm as he made his way wordlessly out the front door. He’d come back late that night, or the next morning, or the following day, or the day after that.

 

Stace and Griffon became proficient in fooling one another about the passage of time. Surely he hadn’t been gone that long. Surely this was something that just happened. A simple, common occurrence. He’d come home, like he always did, and they’d shrug it off-- ha! how funny a thought, shrugging without a body-- and greet him as though he’d just been off to the grocery store.  
They knew, of course, there had to be some reason for his erratic behavior. Some method to his madness. Eccentric and unpredictable as he’d always been, Steven wasn’t a man to act out without cause, but his history of lying about his motives and abilities made it hard not to be suspicious. Who knew what he was looking for, who he was going out to meet? Not that he’d have given a straight answer if they asked him. He was as good at dodging their questions as they were at pretending they didn’t want to ask.

And it made him ache inside, it truly did, hiding so much from the two of them. His lover and his best friend, the two he’d give his life for-- the two he’d _already_ given his life for-- they deserved to know the truth, and eventually they would. Being so secretive made him feel like a criminal. Rightly so, he supposed. As time passed, the weight of everything he couldn’t say bore down on him, and he felt like he was letting them both down with every lie he spat out. ‘No, it doesn’t hurt. I barely feel it at all.’ ‘No, this isn’t about the location. I’ve lost all the leads I had.’ ‘Yeah, I’m getting back in touch with the authorities.’ ‘We should hear back from them any day now.’ ‘No, I haven’t heard from anyone in my family. I’m dead to them.’ ‘Yeah, everything’s fine. Everything’s going to be just fine. I promise.’

One more lie and he’d want to bite off his own tongue and swallow it whole.

He had to remind himself that he was doing it for their own good, that if he could just get a little closer, if he could just get a little more information, if he could manage to go a little deeper, he’d solve it. He’d be the hero, and Griffon could have his life back, and everything would be beautiful. Well. Everything would be beautiful until the shine wore off, and Griffon would come to resent him for the hell he’d gone through, for not fixing things sooner, for being what he was, and then he’d be asked to leave. There’d be no proposal, no wedding, no happily ever after, no house in the countryside with dogs and a garden and nobody to bother them ever. Inevitably, he’d be asked to leave, and because he loved Griffon with all his heart, he would. Steven would gather his things and vanish, like he’d vanished from the desert, like he’d vanished from the cold coast of Maine, without a trace. Nobody would know he’d ever been there. And perhaps he could find a quiet place to sleep forever.

But none of that had happened yet, and none of it was certain anyway-- If he’d come back from hell having learned anything, it was that worldly certainty was little more than a bad joke. Unless it’s directly in your hands, it’s out of your hands completely, as Leviathan had told him. So Steven made a point of every method and every attempt, getting his hands as dirty as he had to, to get them on the answer. 

Months later, at long last, it paid off.


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More exposition, an uncomfortable phonecall, and some actual progress.... whoa... no wa y

Nothing was special about the day the call came. His housemates were both resting, and the sky was overcast, threatening rain without much real menace. He’d been cross-legged on the sofa, ratty greying hair flung over his face while he re-read some novel for the upteenth time. Had Stace been up and about she’d have rolled her eyes, fussing at him for reading in the dark. Hell, Griffon would probably chime in too, both of them henning on about how he needed to take care of his good eye. Instead, it was just him and his headphones and the weathered pages in his stained hands. Not a bad way to waste an afternoon.

He’d gone so long without hearing his phone ring, that when it did, it took him a minute to place the source of the sound. Nobody called him anymore-- nobody needed to, really. If Stace needed something while he was out, she only ever texted, and his other contacts, well. Weren’t exactly of a social nature. No need for conversation. So when the the low drone of his ringtone broke the quiet of the room, he almost ignored it, but the little screen lighting up on the edge of the coffee table caught his eye.

Unregistered number. Too many digits to be a home landline or personal cell. Not one he’d seen before. He groaned internally, praying it wasn’t someone looking for coke or money. He had neither.

“Hello…?”  
“Mister Van Andel.”

His blood ran cold. Even since before retaking his mother’s surname, he’d always made a point in not revealing certain details about his identity to outside contacts. Least of all, his personal cell number or his family name.

“Mister Van Andel? You are there, correct?”  
“Yes-- ah, yeah. Speaking.” More like stuttering, but hey.  
“Excellent. Prepare yourself to record the following information. I dislike repeating myself.” The voice was feminine, soft and clear, as if she was trained in the art of sounding polite and scary as hell on the phone. She sounded far away, though, and hollow, as though the call was filtered; international, perhaps? Good way of covering one’s tracks, but it seemed like a lot of hoops to jump through to--   
Oh, _shit,_ she was talking again. He scrambled to find a pen on the coffee table and flipped the book open to its back cover, ready.

“Listen carefully. After this call, you will have what you need to complete the task you started upon opening the parcel you received some time ago.”

Steven’s mouth went dry, and he nearly dropped the phone. He wanted to scream, he wanted to ask a thousand questions. Mostly, he wanted to vomit. But he listened, wide-eyed, and scrawled down what he was read dutifully.

Coordinates. She was giving him _coordinates_. Each number, each syllable was crisp and perfect, and by the time she was done, he was shaking violently. A _location_. He had a location.

There was a pause, indicating that she was through with the numbers, and then she spoke again.  
“This completes our transaction. You have what you payed for, and retrieving it is up to you.”

He felt sick. What was that supposed to mean, transaction? Payment? Just who the hell was he talking to, anyway? The whole thing was fucked, but Steven’s eyes were locked onto the text laid out before him, allowing himself the smallest sliver of hope. The line had long gone quiet, and assuming the mysterious woman had disconnected, he made to set his phone aside, when her voice cut through one last time.

“Oh, and Vi?”  
He choked on bile. Her voice sounded closer somehow, too close, like she was next to him in the empty living room, mocking him, calling him that. Swallowing, he coughed out an affirmative sound, waiting for her to continue.  
“Don’t disappoint us.”

The line went dead, and moments later, so did his phone.  
It took a few minutes before he was ready to move at all, the gravity of the situation having settled in him hard, weighing him down where he sat. It was completely surreal-- something out of one of his more bizarre nightmares. He thought he’d known her voice, for a fraction of a second, but with as many blurs and gaps as there were in his memory since his return, there was no telling. He shook that off, and once he was sure he wasn’t going to throw up, he took his things and ran off to the back room, and got straight to work.


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get in, loser, we're going diving.

The Pacific Ocean. The Pacific goddamn motherfucking _Ocean,_ for fuck’s sake.

Every mapping setup was giving him the same answers. It was like a cruel joke. He’d been hoping for something relatively accessible, maybe even inside the city-- he’d have endured the insult, in favor of… this. At least it would have kept them on dry land. 

Steven hated the ocean. He hated open water, there was too much you couldn’t see, and it was too easy a conductor for summonings gone wrong. Boats were uncomfortable and he got seasick easily. Beaches were annoying. The water’s surface reflected too much sunlight. Seagulls were a thing.

The ocean sucked, simply put, and naturally, that’s where he had to go. He’d held a sort of ‘family meeting’ in the condo after he’d figured everything out, and after tripping over his words again and again, he’d essentially told them that they were ‘going on a shitty awful ocean vacation.’ That’s how he phrased it, and when he’d tried to explain in detail when he’d pulled out his phone to show them the mysterious number that contacted him, it was gone. The call wasn’t in his phone’s records, nor did it show up in his account log some time later when he went back to look it up. All trace of contact had gone into the aether, as mysterious as the woman herself who’d spoken to him.

No matter. They already thought him a madman, they could handle an extra ounce or two of crazy. Arrangements were made, supplies were packed, and despite his utter loathing of the very idea, the three set out off the coast. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited-- he was fucking thrilled, in all honesty, he was ecstatic at the prospect of being able to bring Griffon home in one piece, or, well. Close to it. The chance at having him safe and sound at home again, ending his suffering and helping him get back to his life, seeing him happy again, the very idea made it all worth it. No amount of nauseatingly salty sea air and annoying seagulls squawking could take that from him.

Of course, no amount of hope and eagerness could keep him from barfing over the side of the boat every twenty minutes, either. Especially not with his nerves running high as they were.

They made it to the specified point in less time than they expected, but the ride had been just long enough for Steven to be curled in a pathetic ball near the back of the deck by the time they arrived. After a while he wobbled to his feet, groaning and whining as he joined Stace and Griffon, peering down over the rails at the dark waves beneath.

“You’re really going down there?” He was surprised; it was Griff who spoke up first. Steven smiled despite the dread that loomed over him, aching to reassure him.

“I don’t have a choice. I gotta… I gotta get you home and safe, you know?” His voice faltered, and he stared off into the distance, watching the sun make its way closer to the horizon. “I gotta make everything right.”

Before Stace or Griffon could respond to that, one of the boat’s operators, a bright-eyed selkie girl named Jade, called them over with a wave. 

“Everything’s ready for the descent, ah, sir.” She tugged at her hat anxiously, rocking from heel to toe. “You’ll be wanting to get down and back before nightfall. Suggest we get a move on.” Her words were polite but carried a weight; a friendly warning. 

She knew what she was talking about, and that was why he’d insisted on hiring her to get them out and back-- the temptation to have her handle the dive herself presented itself more than once. But Steven had accepted this as his responsibility, his job alone. He had a duty to bring his partner home safely.

There was a palpable silence. Even the waves seemed to slow, waiting for Steven to make a move. This was it. The phrase “sink or swim” came to mind and he couldn’t help but laugh a little. He’d have to do both, ironically, to achieve his end goal. He took a second, allowing himself a few breaths, his good eye scanning the horizon. Not that he was looking for anything. It was just too much to bear, the thought of looking his loved ones in the eye, having them see the absolute and complete fear that ruled him then and there. No. Steven refused to be weak, not now, not in front of them, when he had so much to prove.

“Alright, I guess we’re doing this.” He swallowed thick, trying to cover the tremor in his voice. Feigning indifference, he shrugged, crossing the deck to where Jade waited. Frown set firmly in place, he began to empty his pockets and hand his things over-- his phone, keys, and wallet went first, followed by a wad of money and folded paper he quickly pressed into Jade’s hands. She simply blinked at him, her expression one of pain and disbelief, before shaking it off and tucking the bills away. Steven kicked off his shoes next, shrugged out of his coat and tossed it aside, before finally and delicately removing his eyepatch, plucking the opal orb out of the socket and handing it over as well.

He wasn’t bothering with scuba gear or oxygen tanks or wetsuits or any of the like. An amulet (and an expensive one, he reminded himself with an internal cringe) made breathing underwater hassle-free, but it wasn’t going to last forever. He’d borrowed a mask, more for comfort than anything else, as if the horns and wild hair weren’t going to look scary enough underwater already. Other than that, Steven didn’t really care about gearing up. He was going down in his regular clothes with nothing but a harness tether, a light, and a vague sense of hope. 

A vague sense of hope that was slowly becoming something bitter in the back of his throat, but a sense of hope nonetheless.

Jade and Steven exchanged a quick, knowing look-- there was a plan in place, a back-up, that if he didn’t surface by a certain time, Jade was to dive in and recover the body herself, and return Steven’s companions safely to shore, with or without him. The look of tired determination on her face gave nothing away, but she seemed to have faith in him… Not that faith was going to do much at this point.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, he flashed a grin at his partner and his best friend, all crooked teeth and hints of laughter lines, before turning back to face the water. It was the kind of smile that didn’t come about often, the smile that wasn’t guarded and practiced. An expression reserved only for them. As he reached up to untie his hair and let it down, the smile slipped, becoming something else, something grim and resigned. 

Oh well. If something went wrong down there, if he didn’t make it back, at least they could remember him smiling. And with that on his mind, he plunged into the dark water, letting the abyss swallow him up


End file.
